Longsighted
by Amalthea Aex
Summary: A romantic comedy loosely based on the movie "Eddie the Eagle". While training in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany, Eddie (Taron Egerton) meets Dr. Rossi Gössner(Zooey Deschanel). Coach Bronson Peary (Hugh Jackman) views Rossi as a distraction, but with the convincing of Petra Fels (Iris Berben), Bronson and Rossi find a common ground in helping Eddie achieve his dreams.
1. Chapter 1

**_"The most rewarding things you do in life are the ones that look like they cannot be done." - Arnold Palmer_**

Eddie Edwards was born with bad vision. Eyeglasses were unfortunately a necessity for everyday life. Growing up, contacts were not a plausible option for him while being raised off the meager wages of a plasterer in the 1980's.

He had become accustomed to choosing a more frugal style of frames to hold the thick corrective lenses that amplified his already large brown eyes. Eddie had a long history of reducing his eyewear to bits growing up and then as a member of the British ski team. He had quite an impressive collection of old broken frames kept in a tin biscuit box tucked under his bed back home in Cheltenham.

Once being seated in the exam chair by Dr. Rossi Gössner's receptionist, Eddie waited quietly in the dimly lit office. The bridge of his glasses suffered splitting damage from bracing the weight of his fall after tumbling then sliding face first down the slope. It was yet another failed attempt at landing the 40-meter jump.

His goggles had provided no protection whatsoever, and had taken a good beating also. Thank goodness he had been wise enough to strap on a helmet, otherwise a broken jaw could have been added to his ever growing grocery list of aches and pains.

Now a thin piece of silk tape (donated by the buxom female German first aid patrol medic on duty that morning) tenuously held the bridge of Eddie's glasses together.

An angry-looking abrasion had already started to bloom a dark bruise on his left cheek, and a small split on his bottom lip was starting to scab. He winced slightly while adjusting in the large chair. The fall had left his body damaged and his pride hurt, but nothing broken that couldn't be fixed.

After waiting a few minutes while listening to the raspy harmony of Kim Carnes singing "Bette Davis Eyes" crackling from the waiting room radio, there was a light tap on his exam room door.

Dr. Rossi Gössner entered the exam room after plucking Eddie's thin chart from the rack hanging outside the door. Her bright blue eyes were veiled by a large pair of reading glasses perched on the tip of her petite nose.

She scanned the statistics of his chart while absently greeting him in German, "Hallo, Herr Edwards-" she then paused while reading his chief complaint.

"Ski-jumping?" She murmured as her eyes left the paper, sizing him up and meeting his bioptic stare. Amused, she perked a brow.

"Skispringen, mein Herr?" She gave him a small smile while clicking the pen in her left hand, trying to draw his attention.

"Are you British?" Eddie surprisingly asked while flashing her an infectious smile.

Dr. Rossi nodded slowly while setting down his chart and walking over to the exam chair to face him.

"And you, Mr. Edwards-" she reached up and deftly removed his thick glasses and then handed him a diopter, "-are a ski-jumper with a severe case of longsightedness."

Dr. Rossi motioned for him to cover his left eye while dimming the lights in the room, "Cover your left eye, please. Let's see how bad you really are."

His face reddened as he wrenched at the blue colored knit cap resting in his lap with his other free hand.

"Now," she gestured to the large exam chart on the opposite wall facing Eddie, "could you read the top line for me, sir?"

Eddie blinked a few times, squinted, reluctantly covered his left eye, and then started to recite the letters, "E-F-P..."  
He paused and looked to the attractive DO. She nodded urging him to continue, "T-O-Z..."


	2. Chapter 2

**_"The most important thing is not being afraid to take a chance."_ \- D. Fields**

Thirty minutes later, Eddie found himself standing in front of Dr. Rossi's receptionist. He had been given instructions to schedule a follow up appointment sometime next week to be fitted with a specialty set of frames with Nikon lenses. They hopefully would be sturdier more appropriate for his current needs.

At the age of 27, Dr. Rossi Gössner had already hung her shingle in the business district downtown in Garmisch-Partenkirchen after returning back home from her residency abroad. She had been unable to establish herself in the UK, and had reluctantly returned to Bavaria.

Unknown to many, the DO had been born in the southern Germany ski town, but had been sent to live in Cheltenham, UK with her Aunt Freda at the age of 10 in 1968.

Upon Aunt Freda's passing, Rossi had come into quite an inheritance and used the monies wisely to further her education. The years attending the Royal College of Ophthalmologists had wiped clean any lingering German accent Rossi may had retained from her youth, and she used it to her advantage

As Eddie read over the statement of expenses, a lump started to form in the back of his throat. He pushed the bridge of his still broken glasses up his nose and gained the receptionist's attention.

"Excuse me, but I'm not sure I'll be able to pay my bill in full today." He paused to point at the final balance on the printed receipt and then started, "Actually, I'm quite short on funds at the moment, perhaps I could do a delayed installment payment of some sort?"

Dr. Rossi's receptionist, Frau Roz Grobsauer sat unamused and eyed the young man standing in front of her.

Frau Grobsauer had come to work with the young Dr. Rossi after the town's former Ophthalmologist, Dr. Hans Gruber, had retired two years' prior, leaving Roz unemployed.

The large framed Austrian woman had reluctantly agreed to work for Dr. Rossi, even after much pleading by the young optometrist herself.

"Mr. Edwards, I need to inform you when you signed the 'consent to treat' form-" Frau Grobsauer's thick fire engine red fingernail clicked at the form aforementioned that held Eddie's scrawling signature, "-it also is an agreement that all services provided by this office will be paid in full by the end of the business day."

Eddie furrowed his brow while placing his right hand in the pocket of his khaki corduroy trousers, taking inventory of the last few Deutsche Marks he had left to his name.

"Is there a problem?" Dr. Rossi asked while delivering a pile of finished charts to the receptionist's desk.

"Payment for services." Frau Grobsauer chirped. "He has no money."

Eddie looked adorably pathetic, "hang on, I'm not a charity case. Just low on funds. I'm a hard worker. If we could work on an agreement. I promise." His words were rushed as he wrung his hands together.

The gears were turning in Rossi's head. She had been toying with the idea of refurbishing her much outdated waiting room, but had been reluctant to hire it done due to her tight budget.

"Are you any good with your hands?" Rossi asked

"Aye, I've done a bit of plastering and such. My dad has a business back home." Eddie held up both of his calloused hands as evidence.

"I have some work I need done. Perhaps that would do? My services in exchange for manual labor?"

Frau Roz clicked her tongue in disapproval, "Are you certain that is the best course of action?"

"Indeed, I do." Dr. Rossi stepped up to Edwards and took his arm in hers, "I'm going on a hunch, but I have confidence Mr. Edwards will deliver on his promise."

Eddie smiled and nodded, "you have my word."

"Good." Rossi began to lead him into the dingy terra-cotta colored waiting room, "Frau Roz, please be so kind as to draw up a contract between Mr. Edwards and I."

Frau Roz sputtered and got to work. Dr. Gössner turned to Eddie as they walked side-by-side into the next room, "Now, let me show you my vision..."


	3. Chapter 3

_**"When my back is broken**_

 _ **When the mountain moves away**_

 _ **All the dreams and promises**_

 _ **That we give**_

 _ **We give away**_

 _ **Sometimes you kick**_

 ** _Sometimes you get kicked"_ -INXS**

At five o'clock sharp, Bronson Peary steered his Polaris snow cat 300 to the outrun of the ski-jumps at GroBe Olympiaschanze.

A portable transistor radio inside the snow cat was cranking out Peter Gabriel's anthem, "Sledgehammer".

Peary idled down the chugging diesel driven engine and poked his head out of the side of the cab to examine the conditions of the outrun.

A stern frown pulled down the corners of his mouth. "Dammit..." he growled in disapproval while shutting down the snow cat.

As he opened the cab door and jumped down into the soft pack, Peary pulled off his dark sunglasses to better survey the damages. He kicked a pile of slush with the toe of his worn leather cowboy boot and looked up the base of the hill to see a lone skier walking down from the 40-meter jump.

The skier was wearing a safety helmet, a blue CB Sports ski jacket, and a pair of grey Adidas ski pants. He struggled carrying his skis over his shoulder, and looked quite defeated.

"Are you the one that's been tearing up my slopes?" Peary called up to the man. His wrathful tone mixed with an American accent echoed off of the high jumps facing him and back down into the snow covered valley.

Bronson Peary had taken pride in his job as a snow groomer. A disgruntled snow groomer nonetheless, but still like most of the ski slope workers in Garmisch-Partenkirchen. When most of people were ordering their first beer, they were beginning a night's work of changing the bumpy runs back into smooth pistes. And being the head pisten-bully driver for GroBe Olympiaschanze, he was obsessive and preferred working in isolation at his Sisyphean task, ever to be repeated, over and again.

Peary rolled his shoulders back, standing at 6' 2", and still retained his athletic build from his former "golden-boy" skiing days in the late 60's. Bronson Peary was an intimidating presence on the hill. His features were rugged and flawless. His burnished light brown eyes narrowed as the plodding skier came closer.

"I've just been trying to get this 40-meter down before I go on to the 70-meter. Having a bit of trouble with getting the landing down." the young amber haired, bespectacled man replied in a polite British accent.

"You do realize the time to start jumping is when you're five or six?" Peary barked back angrily. "If you had any brains in that head of yours, you'd quit before you're paralyzed or dead!" He pulled a silver flask from the back of his well-worn, but well-fit Levi's 501 jeans and took a pull of whiskey.

"This isn't a place for some Limey to kill himself going ass over elbow trying to live out some idiotic pipe dream." He returned the flask to his pocket and waved the unknown would be ski-jumper to move from the outrun, "Get your eyes checked, Mr. Magoo! You'll never land that jump, let alone the 70-meter!"

Satisfied with his verbal tirade, Peary turned to get back up into his snow cat.

Blinking his pair of large brown eyes amplified by Coke-bottle thick lenses, Edwards returned a frown and shouted back to Peary, "I'm going to land that jump!" Eddie winced holding his left elbow and hand.

"I'm going to make it to the Olympics as Britain's first ski-jumper! What would you know about it anyway?!" His voice rang with true antagonism, but quickly faltered as he slipped, almost losing his skis down the steep slope.

Peary stopped in his tracks, becoming more agitated by the second. He turned back on his heel and started at the obstinate Brit.

Edwards scurried off the outrun, ski's quickly slung back over his right shoulder, pouting like a scolded school boy, ever glancing back and giving daggers at the once world-class American Olympic ski-jumper.

"So that's the kid that's been helping out Petra." Bronson mumbled under his breath while climbing back into the snow cat's cab.

Turning the key, the sturdy diesel rumbled to life and set off on its nightly course, corduroying the pistes to perfection.

"I've gotta talk some sense into her and let her know she'd better hang that "HELP WANTED" sign back up. That crazy Brit is going to be dead in a week."

Edwards had been working for Petra Fels to pay for his room and board while training in Garmisch. The few quid mom and dad had been able to spare when he left Cheltenham had dwindled, and the ever resourceful Eddie had come up with a plan to work any odd jobs just to keep him in Garmisch near the slopes.

Petra Fels was the raven haired, middle aged owner of the "Lodge am Hausberg". It was renowned as a local hotspot for skiers and the second best place in town for a cheeseburger. Petra was well known to the ski community to offer a warm Dopplebock and burger, and then a possible "tuck in" at the end of the evening from the Fraulein Petra Fels herself.

She had a reputation of picking her skier of the season, and with no doubt, the quirky but handsome Edwards had been a targeted of her affections.

Eddie, being British and painfully naive, had politely declined her offer. Instead, they had come to an agreement: Eddie could stay in the hinterzimmer of the Hausberg, on the condition he would work busing tables, cleaning, and any other extraneous chores Petra could come up with. If only she had been 20 years younger.


	4. Chapter 4

**_"I'm not too blind to see, I'll never be your beast of burden"_ \- The Rolling Stones**

Happy hour was in full swing and the early Friday dinner crowd was starting to filter in.

A forlorn Eddie Edwards pushed a bruised shoulder into the side door of the Hausberg and entered the small backroom that doubled as his temporary living quarters.

It was half-full with crates, boxes and shelving. All piled up with an assortment of sundries and the supply's Petra needed for her busy tavern.

The other half of the crowded room held a small fold-out cot. On it was a half-zipped sleeping bag, a purple rucksack, and other strewn about belongings Eddie had brought with him to Germany: A Sony Walkman, he had received last Christmas, some assorted tapes of his favorite bands, pairs of thick wool and mismatched socks, and a VHS tape labeled in Eddie's handwriting, "Ski jumping greatest hits #1".

Also setting on his cot was an unopened care package from Mum. Most likely, it contained snacks, toiletries, and any spare cash she could hide from Edwards disapproving father.

That money would be put away for new ski gear and possible glasses. He was looking forward to new glasses soon. Perhaps they would be just thing he needed to hit that elusive landing: the ability to see it!

He carefully leaned his skis against the wall, hung his ski jacket on a nearby peg and toed out of his one-size too big boots.

Eddie tied on an apron, bearing the Lodge am Hausberg logo, loosely around his waist so that it hung from his narrow hips. He wiggled his feet into his worn trainers and he pulled a large striped knit sweater over his coveted Van Halen t-shirt.

Doing so mussed his crop of amber hair and crooked his glasses. He quickly fixed both and headed down the hallway past the restrooms to the kitchen. It was the start of his evening shift as Petra's bus boy at the Hausberg.

He paused at the ice machine to fill a plastic baggie of ice and then gingerly pressed it to his left elbow. He had landed on it at some point earlier that day during practice on the ever daunting 40-meter temptress.

As he leaned against the wall, pondering if he was doing the right thing being there, one of Petra's barmaids walked up to him.

"You okay, mate?" Trish, the mid-20's, green eyed Australian transplant, asked. He nodded in reply.

"Best give up while you're ahead. You've got better luck becoming a bartender - and should probably go with that, chappie."

He frowned as she nudged him with her elbow while filling two mugs with ice then snatching a few Cokes from the large aluminum cooler. She placed it all on a round serving tray and exited from the kitchen out into the beer garden.

Trish approached one of the high top tables and placed the drink order in front of the two women sitting there.

Eddie watched from the safety of the kitchen and immediately recognized the dark-haired woman of the pair. She was chatting casually with the other woman, a curly haired blonde that was clearly of Nordic decent.

"Oh, no!" Eddie hissed to himself, "Dr. Rossi..."

He had forgotten his promise to start construction on the waiting room that afternoon. This day was turning out to be a catastrophe.

Edwards looked skyward, searching the heavens for some kind of explanation. "Why me?" He pleaded.

After no divine intervention, the young would-be future Olympian, plucked a large empty plastic dish-bin from the corner of the kitchen and reluctantly started out into the beer garden.


	5. Chapter 5

**_"When two tribes go to war_**

 ** _A point is all you can score_**

 ** _When two tribes go to war_**

 ** _A point is all_ y _ou_ _can score"_ \- Frankie Goes To Hollywood**

The Norwegian ski team was in town for training and they visited the Hausberg frequently. Petra loved the draw of the crowd and the attention it brought to her business.

Bjorn Moberg was the Norwegian ski-jump coach, and to Petra, always a welcome guest. He was a tall, blonde, blue-eyed, built Nord in his late 40's. He wore a full beard and an unruly shaggy hair-style that was just starting to grey at his temples.

Erik Moberg and Lars Holbir joined Bjorn out that evening with the rest of the ski-team for some drinks and skirt chasing. Their lean muscular athletic builds gave them an advantage and also made the local Frauleins an easy catch.

Erik and Lars had been hand-picked by Bjorn at a very young age to be properly trained in the sport of ski-jumping and were two of the most popular up and coming Winter Olympic hopefuls.

Lars Holbir was ranked second in the World Cup. He had won silver in the Oberstdorf team and individual FIS Nordic World Ski Championships in 1986.

Erik Moberg was co-captain of the Norwegian ski-team and conveniently, Bjorn's eldest son.

"Just look at that table of hunks." Alise fawned over the squad of sitting testosterone, two tables over.

"I'd like some of that tall blonde with the goatee. Mmm, hmm..." Alise carried on like a school girl while Rossi sat lost in her thoughts.

She stirred the ice cubes in her Coke with her finger while watching the bustling crowd. She had been single for close to two years.

Rossi had taken to burying herself in her new ophthalmic practice. It had been a good way to avoid having to deal with trying to re-enter the dating scene.

She had ended the long term relationship with her cheating Parisian born boyfriend, Jean-Marc shortly after discovering he had been sleeping around on her throughout her residency.

"Ugh, never again." she scorned seeing Jean-Marc's smug looking face in her head.

"What do you have against blondes?" Alise protested while giving her golden wavy locks a toss over her shoulder followed by a ruby lipped pout.

"Nothing, Alise-" Rossi started with a laugh, "-I'm just not sure-" she was cut off by a sudden cacophony of breaking glasses, dishes, and the scattering of flatware across the brick pavers of the Hausberg beer garden.

The entire crowd's attention quickly turned to the source of the aberration of sound.

Eddie Edwards stood amidst the broken dishes and discarded forks and knives. His injured left elbow had given way under the heavy load of an assortment of dirtied tables contents. He stood red faced looking back at the crowd, and unfortunately his gaze met the concerned stare of the attractive Dr. Rossi.

"Sorry!" he apologized profusely, "please disregard my mess, an oversight on my part, shouldn't have tried hefting that. Injured elbow and all." he knelt down, wishing he could somehow melt into the floor and disappear.

His wish wasn't granted, and he quickly continued to pick up the mess.

The Norwegians had witnessed his repeated failures all week on the 40-meter jump and had given him the nickname "Kvakksalver" (ducky) and Lars Holbir was the first to start, taking full advantage of the situation, he taunted loudly, "Lenge siden sist, Kvakksalver!"

The entire table of athletes, including their coach erupted with laughter and then followed by jeering which included some of them "quacking" and flapping their arms wildly, mocking Edwards amateur attempted form while ski-jumping.

Rossi frowned and muttered to Alise, "What a bunch of wankers." She grabbed her purse and stood up from the table.

"Where are you going?" her friend asked.

"Off to powder my nose." Rossi answered condescendingly, then pushed through the crowd.

Alise shrugged her shoulders and took a long sip of her Coke, and contented herself with coveting the muscular and chiseled features of Lars Holbin.


	6. Chapter 6

**_"Run, run, run away_**

 ** _Like a train running off the track_**

 ** _The truth gets left behind_**

 ** _And falls between the cracks_**

 ** _Standing on broken dreams_**

 ** _But never losing sight_**

 ** _Spread your wings"_ – Van Halen**

Rossi paused by Eddie on her way to the restroom. He gave her a side glance while picking up the last fork and grabbing onto the once again too full dishpan.

"Excuse me..." she said, feeling let down but embarrassed for him. Eddie said nothing but watched her walk down the hallway and into the women's toilet.

Petra stood behind the bar, and had witnessed the whole scene. She shook her head, feeling bad for the clumsy Brit, but then returned to serving her ever faithful growing crowd of Hausberg patrons.

Petra Fels hadn't come into the ownership of the Loge am Hausberg all on her own. Her past was a sorted one.

In 1968, she had married the German down-hill speed skiing champion, Levin Fels. Before Levin, she and Bronson had enjoyed a clandestine romantic relationship. But as Bronson's success and ego had grown out of control, their relationship wavered.

Unfortunately, soon after their breakup, Peary had fallen into personal problems with drinking and partying, which led to his untimely elimination from the American ski team by coach Warren Sharp.

As a last resort to mend her broken heart, Petra accepted the affections of Fels. They were married after a 3-month whirl wind romance.

It wasn't the fairy tale marriage she had always hoped, but Levin had been a good provider. He had a fiery German temper that matched his tenacity during competition. Petra had often been the target of that temper if Fels had a low ranking or poor time on the slopes.

A year after their marriage, Petra gave birth to a son, Tobias. He had his mother's light hazel eyes and dark hair. Petra loved being a mother, but always wondered what life would have been like with Bronson Peary.

They years wore on, Petra's marriage failed, but she stayed. Stayed for Tobias, stayed to keep their new business afloat.

With Petra's urgings and Levin's wavering ability to ski competitively due to health problems from repeated falls (resulting in knee injuries, reconstructive surgery, and lengthy recoveries), they agreed to purchase the Loge am Hausburg in the Bavarian town of Garmisch-Partenkirchen.

It was in a perfect location situated so that holiday skiers could take advantage of the views offered by the GroBe Olympiaschanze. It also allowed Petra to still enjoy watching her favorite Alpine sport: ski-jumping.

She had missed watching Bronson in action, defying death every time, and often fantasized of him coming into her bar after a long day on the 70-meter jump.

Petra fell in love with the tavern. Levin did not. He called it a money pit and berated her daily for wasting all of his previous winnings all on the restaurant.

He also frequently became jealous after witnessing his pretty wife flirting with patrons, and even going to an all-time low by accusing her of adultery.

She had always only loved one man. And that man was not Levin Fels. It would be a secret her heart would keep to its grave.

It was bitter-sweet when Petra got the call late one October evening in 1975. Levin had been doing a solo run on one of Mount Gudiberg's double black diamonds.

His death had been instantaneous as he had misjudged an incline and launched himself into a tree. He had gone missing for three days until the Alpine ski patrol had discovered his frozen body. It had taken the Bavarian coroner another two full days to finally thaw out Fels body in order to perform a proper autopsy.

After Levin's funeral, she decided not to punish herself any longer for not missing him nor the spousal abuse she had put up with for the past five years. She would miss the financial stability he had provided.

The years following her husband's death, Petra became a furiously successful business woman. She had grown her wait staff from none to five, (sometimes seven during peak skiing season), built her reputation of not taking shite from anyone, and the popularity with the ski community as the place to be after a long day on the slopes.

She was a success in almost every aspect of her life, but not so posh when it came to the matters of the heart.

That was the one thing she never let any man control ever again after Levin Fels. Suitors would come and go. She would take the occasional casual affair with an attractive skier for the season, but nothing ever lasting.

Always the fleeting, teasing love was her way. Keep the power, keep the control, keep them wanting for more.

She had also put away an impressive savings to help send her talented Tobias to culinary school in Austria. He had aspired to one day take over the Hausburg and had grown a love for food while working in the kitchen as a short-order cook.

She noticed that he had slowly honed his skills and eventually improved the menu as to provide authentic Bavarian cuisine. Petra was so proud of him and delighted in his success.

The smile faded from her face as she thought of Tobias and his deeply dimpled smile that reminded her of a certain skier would forever haunt her heart.


	7. Chapter 7

**_"Don't fake it baby,_**  
 ** _lay the real thing on me_**  
 ** _The church of man,_**  
 ** _love, is such a holy place to be_**  
 ** _Make me baby, make me know you really care_**  
 ** _Make me jump into the air"_ -David Bowie**

Later that evening, Bronson Peary made his way through the crowd and found his usual seat waiting open for him at the bar of the Hausberg. It was his lunch break and he had decided to pay a visit to the hostess and get the story on her latest humanitarian project, Michael "Eddie" Edwards.

Petra noticed Bronson's stare as she finished making a round of shots for a young group of holiday skiers and then walked slowly over to him.

"Guten tag, Herr Peary." she greeted him smoothly. "The usual?" She held up a bottle of Canadian Club and clinked it against an empty beer stein held by her other hand.

Peary nodded in approval as Petra opened the tap and poured him a tall one, then followed up by sliding a shot of the whiskey over to him.

"So..." Peary started after shooting the whiskey and taking a sip of his beer, then licking the head from his upper lip. Petra melted a little from where she stood behind the bar but remained stoic.

"Tell me about this kid you've got working for you. He's been tearing up my slopes, and I won't have much more of it, Petra."

Petra instantly glanced over to Eddie. He was busy busing tables and visiting with patrons. Her voice tightened, "what's wrong with, Eddie?" she asked.

Peary's eyes narrowed, "Don't mess with me, Petra. I'm not about to suffer fools. Especially some Brit that's clueless about ski-jumping."

Petra knew Bronson meant business. She tried to think of something convincing to tell Bronson, but was quickly distracted by the shouting of the Norwegian team.

They were at it again, pestering her bus boy, and Peary took notice of the unwavering resolve in the young man. It struck a cord in him and reminded of him of his former coach, Warren Sharp.

Warren Sharp had been Peary's mentor and father figure. He had stood devoutly by him, coaching him in the purist form of ski-jumping. Peary had a natural god-given talent for the sport, but ended up wasting it by following his pride. He had always regretted letting his over-inflated ego take over and his bad decisions that ultimately led to his demise and dismissal from the American Olympic Ski-Team.

Peary quickly stood as he saw the much taller, Lars Holbir push at Edwards, which in turn caused coach Bjorn Moberg to jump to his feet in defense of his team member.

"And just what do you think you're up to, Peary? Going to teach your ducky to fly?" he elder Nord challenged the approaching Peary. Bjorn sneered and then spoke loud enough for the surrounding crowd hear, "look the washed up champ has come to help his little boy! Are you going to coach him, Peary? But maybe he could teach you a few things!" Bjorn started to laugh.

Peary squared his jaw and glared at Bjorn. A surprised Eddie looked on in disbelief, "Wait, is it true what Petra told me about you?" Edwards asked, "Are you Bronson Peary? _The_ Bronson Peary from the 1968 American Olympic Ski-Jumping Team?"

Eddie's expression turned from angst to hopeful. Had he finally found someone to help him learn how to ski-jump.

"I'm the one." Peary countered back while glaring at Bjorn. "How about we take this outside?" he said while pointing at Moberg. Bjorn Moberg nodded. He was happily looking forward to planting his knuckles into the pig-headed Americans face.

Once outside, Peary led the group up to the outrun of the GroBe.

"Shall we settle this?" he turned and asked the Norwegian coach, "you don't think I have what it takes to show this kid how to jump?" Peary was holding the bottle of Canadian Club he had grabbed from the bar on the way out and now took a long swig.

Bjorn frowned, "No. I don't think a drunk can teach that duck to jump, Peary." He pointed an accusing finger at Bronson then to Edwards. His team of skilled athletes had made a semi-circle around the trio to block the growing crowd.

Peary capped the bottle and tossed it off into the snow. "You don't think I have the balls, Moberg? If you're going to coach these kids how to do it..." he waved to the towering 90-meter jump, the snow shimmering in the night lights illuminating the outrun.

"You need to be able to show them." Peary smirked and then pushed past Moberg's crew and quickly disappeared back into the Hausberg. He approached Petra, who still maintained her station behind the bar.

"Where is it?!" Bronson barked at her.

"What?" Petra left from behind the bar and stood in his path.

"You took the bottle with you, Peary!" Petra was confused and worried. Bronson was on an alcohol fueled tirade once again.

"That kids gear. I know he's been staying here. I want it, boots, skis, the lot of it." he brushed past her as she tried to stop him from going into the back room.

Moments later, he emerged wearing Eddie's size 11 ski boots and carrying the pair of dull red skis Eddie had been training with over his shoulder.

"I'm going to show these bastards how it's done."

"Oh, God. Bronson!" Petra chased after him as he exited back into the night air, headed towards the ski-jump outrun.

"You're just as crazy as that kid!" Bjorn dismissed him as Peary walked past the ever growing group of on-lookers.

Bronson Peary had a head of steam on him as he climbed the long staircase past the 70-meter jump, further up, to the top of the 90-meter jump of Garmisch. He wore only a half-buttoned down dark blue shirt over a grey t-shirt and his ever present tight fitting blue jeans.

He had pulled a cigarette from the pack in the front pocket of his shirt and lit it as he sat on the start gate. He paused to enjoy the familiar the vista over the lower hill and the group of disbelievers.

"That old coot, he's going to kill himself" Lars Holbin snickered as the rest of the Norwegian team watched with curiosity.

Petra stood beside Eddie and took his arm as security and warmth. They both looked up the towering ramp of the jump. A light snow had begun to fall.

"Do you really think he'll do it?" Eddie asked, his eyes not leaving the older mans form moving on the start gate.

Petra nodded slowly, "Yes, Eddie. He needs to have his moment. To prove himself, I guess."

Her heart was pounding. It had been years since she had the honor to witness once Olympic hopeful, Bronson Peary, champion ski-jumper in action.

Bronson flicked his cigarette away, exhaled slowly, then leaned forward and gravity took hold.

The 90-meter jump, the queen of Garmisch-Partenkirchen, had him in her spell once again. Peary's borrowed skis clacked into the slotted track as he took off down the in-run. His powerful lower body and broad shoulders initiated into the jump.

"Up. Back. Forward. Down." The mantra echoed in Peary's brain. Years of training automatically clicking into gear. The muscle memory still there, he crouched low, taking advantage of his power to weight ratio. As he left the critical point, flight became reality in the tenth of a second.

He executed the jump in perfect V-style form: hands back, back straight, leaning ever forward; flying through the night air like a god, Bronson Peary was a sight.

His landing was impressive just as well. He nailed it in perfect telemark style, one foot in front of the other. Peary casually skied up to the group on the outrun, spraying them with slush and snow.

"And that, ladies and gentlemen," he bowed deeply, "is how it's done." As he stood he gave Petra a wink. She felt her cheeks flush and couldn't help but smile at the wise-ass but incredibly skilled American ski-jumper.

Bjorn Moberg, unimpressed, stepped up to Peary, he clenched his fist, pulled back and buried it into Peary's grinning face. "And that, Kvakksalver" Bjorn turned and glared at Edwards, "is how that is done."

Peary instantly fell back wards, popping the bindings of the skis and falling onto his back into the snow. Eddie quickly came to his aid, helping him up. The Norwegian team, led away by their coach, called out derogatory phrases and threats. Eddie ignored them and tended to the pride-bruised Peary. "That was incredible!" Edwards complimented. Bronson Peary rubbed at his jaw and brushed the snow off of his shirt and looked at the Brit."You're the coach I've been looking for!" Edwards gushed with excitement.

Peary groaned, "Come on, kid. You can't honestly be serious?"

Eddie had knelt down and scooped up his skis and had slung them over his shoulder. He blinked, "For as long as I can remember, it has been my ambition to become and Olympian. I need a coach. I can do this, Peary." His tone was pleading but hopeful.

Peary rolled his eyes and sighed while looking up at the stars, "Alright, I know I'm going to regret this..." he looked sternly at Edwards, "...come by my garage next Tuesday afternoon, kid. Those skis are more of an embarrassment to the sport than you are. You gotta start somewhere, so let's start with them."


	8. Chapter 8

**_"Listen baby, ain't no mountain high,_**

 ** _Ain't no valley low, ain't no river wide enough;_**

 ** _Baby if you need me call me no matter where you are,_**

 ** _No matter how far;_**

 ** _Just call my name; I'll be there in a hurry;_**

 ** _You don't have to worry"_ \- Marvin Gaye**

When Dr. Rossi's receptionist had contacted Eddie Edwards via the phone at the Hausberg, Petra had answered and taken the message.

Edwards was busy in the kitchen that morning, scraping away at the greasy grille. The radio was blasting "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" by Marvin Gaye and Tami Terrell. Eddie scraped while singing out Marvin's part and shaking his hips.

Petra smiled to herself after hanging up the phone. "This could be just what my little crackpot needs." She swept up the note in her left hand and made her way to the kitchen.

She leaned in the doorway, watching Eddie toil diligently away at her grille. His voice was a mellow tenor, and for a white British man, he could actually sing. She caught his attention when she began to sing along in harmony with him while giving him a taunting grin.

Eddie looked up from his chore surprised and quickly turned down the radio. "Sorry, Petra. I'll keep it down..."

"I think your eye doctor has a crush on you, Herr Eddie." she purred while fanning herself with the message from Rossi's receptionist. He quickly wiped his hands with the grease stained apron he wore and reached for the note being waved in front of his face.

Eddie's glasses had fogged over quickly after leaving the warm kitchen and was forced to remove them. He attempted to wipe them off with the hem of his Rolling Stones t-shirt. While pulling his glasses closer to inspect the lenses, he still held onto his t-shirt, inadvertently pulling it up and exposing his soft pale belly.

"Oh, Eddie, you do have beautiful eyes, and so very cute," she patted at his tummy, causing him to try and suck it in while turning pink, "No wonder she fancies you." Petra laughed softly and sauntered off to her office to place food orders and do billing.

The young skier shook his head while replacing his thick lenses back to his face and read the message from Dr. Rossi's office written in Petra's graceful penmanship:

* Hallo, Mr. Edwards. Please contact me at your earliest convenience. Your new frames have come in. My office number is 8821 7700 or you may ring my flat after hours at 8821 2625. *

He looked up from the note and queried, "Why on earth would she want me to have her home number?"

He walked to the phone behind the Hausberg bar and quickly dialed the office number. After a few rings, there was an answer, "Hallo, Dr. Gössner's office of Ophthalmology. How may I help you?"

"Yes, hello. Is this Frau Roz?" Eddie asked.

The voice on the other end of the line laughed full and long.

"Goodness, no!" This is Fraulein Alise Krause you are speaking with. Frau Roz Grobsauer will unfortunately be out of the office for some time. Gallenblasensteins."

Eddie remained in a confused silence.

"I apologize, I'm rambling..." she offered.

"Is this the Mr. Michael Edwards from Britain?"

"Oh, yes that's me. Everyone calls me Eddie, though." Eddie felt a wave of worry spill over him. Would she ask where he had been? "I'm just returning the message I received from Dr. Rossi, I mean, Gössner-" he corrected himself.

"Ja, Dr. Gössner would like to fit your new lenses. Very handsome..." you could hear the flirtation in Alise's voice as she recalled seeing him at the Hausberg, Friday evening.

"I'm sure they are, Dr. Gössner has excellent taste." Eddie replied in earnest.

"Indeed she does, Mr. Edwards-" Alise smiled while chewing on the cap of her pen, "-are you available?"

Eddie replied, feeling flattered, "Actually, I am available. I haven't asked a girl on a date for some time though, been too busy training..."

Alise chuckled, "Oh, no. Mr. Edwards, I'm afraid you are mistaken. I simply was asking if you were available to come in for an appointment and review some plans for the waiting room. And although you're too busy, I'm sure dinner with you would be lovely."

Eddie felt a warm heat grow slowly up the back of his neck then into his cheeks. "Sorry, my mistake." He pulled a hand down over the front of his face, knocking his glasses askew.

"Tomorrow, Dr. Gössner has an open appointment at 10:00 am. Would that work for you?" Alise offered.

"Yes, thank you." Eddie quickly answered, trying to avoid saying anything more for fear of embarrassing himself further.

"Excellent. She will be expecting you then. Wir sprechen unsbald, mein Herr." and the phone clicked silent.

He slowly rested the phone down into its cradle. The olive green cord wrapped itself like a sleeping cobra around the base. Eddie looked down at the note with Rossi's flat number and subconsciously memorized the last four digits.


	9. Chapter 9

**_"Oh here it comes_**

 ** _That funny feeling again winding me up inside_**

 ** _Every time we touch_**

 ** _Hey I don't know_**

 ** _Oh, tell me where to begin cause I never ever_**

 ** _Felt so much"_ \- Van Halen**

Tuesday morning at ten o'clock, Eddie Edwards entered the office doors of Dr. Gössner's only to be greeted by a smiling, blonde, and perky Fraulein Alise Krause.

"Guten Morgen, wei geht ed Ihnen?" she said with a smile.

"Hallo," Eddie nodded, "I have an appointment with Dr. Gössner at ten." he said as he adjusted his poorly repaired frames.

"Oh, ja!" Fraulein Alise grinned and then stood, as she did she slid her hands down the sides of her thighs to straighten her tightly fit pencil skirt. "Please, follow me..."

Alise's high heels clicked on the floor of the office as she directed Eddie back to the original exam room where he had first met the lovely Dr. Rossi Gössner.

As he sat in the large leather exam chair, Eddie thought back to the previous Friday night when he had noticed her out for dinner at the Hausberg. And where fate had led him to finally find himself a coach.

He had been busing tables when he saw her sitting at a table in the beer garden.

He remembered how he had lingered at one particular table, just in eye-shot of Rossi's table. She had worn her hair up that evening, and Eddie had taken his time admiring how the soft tendrils of hair laid against the ivory skin of her graceful neck.

Little did Edwards realize, the pretty Ophthalmologist had also witnessed Peary's impressive jump from the 90-meter.

Since that night, Bronson and the young Edwards had been a hot topic of discussion through-out the ski-town of Garmisch.

Eddie was pulled away from his reverie when she entered the exam room. Rossi had given a habitual tap at the door before entering. She had worn her hair down that day, soft waves of dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulders.

She was sans reading glasses, and Eddie had an advantage of seeing her shinning bright, blue eyes up close.

"Good morning, Mr. Edwards. Thank you for coming in at such a short notice." She was carrying a small shipping box under one arm and extended her hand, offering a polite handshake. Eddie took her hand eagerly as he attempted a gentlemanly shake.

Dr. Gössner perked both of her eyebrows up as little volts of rouge electricity traveled along the skin of her hand as they made contact. It in turn, made the hairs on the back of Eddie's neck stand up. Dr. Gössner jumped in surprise.

"Oh, my! I'm afraid that's my fault!" she laughed adamantly, "Unfortunately with the low humidity in my office combined with my woolen sweater is not much of a help when it comes to preventing static electricity." She let go of his hand and opened her white clinicians jacket to show her pale pink cashmere top she wore underneath. He merely nodded, at a loss for words at that moment.

"I'd like to say how sorry I am for the other day; I had completely forgotten about coming in to get started on your waiting area." Edwards apologized.

" I figured something had come up, but when I didn't hear from you, my option was to try and lure you back with the promise of new glasses, " she half-joked with him.

Eddie sat there embarrassed. He had let her down, but she was still willing to help and give him a second chance.

"I can start work today if you'd like. Even work extra and stay after hours. I've got a lot good ideas," he offered.

Her mind wandered, imagining the awkward but attractive skier, sweaty and covered in plastering dust.

"Right then-" she broke the silence and nervously switched her attention to opening the box containing his new glasses.

"Let's have a look." She pulled the dark framed glasses out from the bubble wrap and packing peanuts, skillfully giving the lenses a quick shine with a soft cloth and then offered them up to Eddie.

He happily removed his old broken glasses, setting them in his lap and reached out with an open hand.

With his vision uncorrected, Dr. Rossi was only a fuzzy haze in front of him. She smiled knowing this and avoided his hand and instead helped to slide the frames onto his face.

Her fingers brushed against the outer shell of both of his ears and then slid down to the back of his neck to check for fit.

Eddie blinked, and Rossi was now in full focus and in very close proximity.

"Any closer and she could be sitting in my lap..." Eddie thought to himself. His thoughts brought a small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"I see you like them." Rossi commented, noticing his pleased expression as her fingertips traveled over to the back of his ears, sending a shiver down his spine, then around to the sides of his face. She was checking that they didn't fit either too snug or loose.

"Very much. Thank you." his grin broadened to a wide smile as he nodded in approval.

"Fit well?" she asked while taking a step back to admire him.

He nodded again, showing off a white-toothed smile.

"They suit you very well, Mr. Edwards. Very handsome, indeed." She felt her cheeks flush and she quickly redirected her attention to his chart.

Eddie cleared his throat then reached into the pocket of his corduroys.

"I was wondering something. Do you give all of your patients your home number or is that just for me?"

Rossi's eyes widened in disbelief as he pulled out the slip of paper with Petra's message on it from yesterday.

"Not usually. Alise is my temporary receptionist while Frau Roz is off. She must have made a mistake," her ears grew hot.

That meddling Alise! She was at it again, trying to match her up.

The two friends and co-workers had been recalling their Friday evening out and were going on about the young, brash Englishman early that Monday morning over coffee.

Rossi had made an absent-minded comment that she had thought him clumsy but adorable, and that was all that Alise Krause needed to start her match-making mischief.

The unfortunate emotional scars of ex-boyfriend, Jean-Marc were still healing for Rossi, and she was hesitant to entertain some spontaneous romance with a slightly insane British skier.

"I'll take that up with Alise to get it corrected. My apologies." Rossi reached for the outstretched note held by the now newly bespectacled man in her exam chair.

He surrendered it without hesitation, but his brain had already permanently stored in his long-term memory the important numbers on it, especially the last four digits to Dr. Rossi's flat: 2-6-2-5.


	10. Chapter 10

**_"When you got a view so clear_**

 ** _Ain't no fear of falling_**

 ** _The sky's the limit_**

 ** _So dive on in it"_ – Nik Kershaw**

Bronson Peary lived in the apartment above his garage that neighbored the GroBe. It was an ample building with 2 large bays. One for his snow cat; the other for his 1972 canary yellow Pontiac Firebird. It had a black T-top, and the 2-door coupe was clearly one of his prized possessions. Peary was underneath the Firebird, replacing the oil drain plug after draining the old oil from the engine. He kept the car well maintained, and it ran like a top.

There suddenly was a persistent knock at the door and Peary groaned, "damn, it's Tuesday..." He remained under the car, hoping the offender of his peace would get the hint and eventually leave. Soon he heard footsteps across the wooden floorboards and a pair of worn Adidas trainers came into his field of vision. A man's voice with an obvious British accent called out, " Hello? I'm looking for Bronson Peary. I came by like you said. I was wondering if you could give me a few tips?"

"Give up. There's one for free." Peary advised while tightening a bolt. Edwards leaned down and peeked under the Firebird and gave Bronson an enthusiastic smile.

In the following weeks, Bronson reluctantly showed the determined Brit some basic fundamentals of ski-jumping. Eddie was an eager learner and worked hard, showing slight improvements with each session.

They had set up a lose schedule: Tuesday and Thursday afternoon practices, two hours at a clip. It was the most Peary could tolerate without losing his temper and kicking the kid out of his garage. The other days of the week consisted of Eddie running between working at Petra's, the progressing remodel of Dr. Gössner's office waiting room, and the 40-meter jump at the GroBe.

It wasn't uncommon for Eddie to show up at Dr. Rossi's office still in his ski gear, and also wearing a few new bruises and scrapes on his face. Even sore, he worked faithfully, taking a break now and then when Rossi would offer him a cup of coffee, tea or sandwich from the delicatessen down the street.

He would regularly prop himself on the sawhorses during breaks, resting his sore legs and muscles from Peary's workouts. Eddie wondered if the former champion ski-jumper enjoyed torturing him and at times dreaded their next practice.

"How's the ski-jumping going?" Rossi asked one morning while delivering up a croissant and large glass of milk. She had found the Brit had a fondness for whole milk, as he drank it often. It was an endearing quality to see him take a large thirsty gulp then lick his lips with satisfaction.

"Making progress." Eddie answered while taking the food from her, "thank you, Rossi. I appreciate this." He gladly took a bite of the warm buttery croissant followed by a swallow of milk. She sat next to him on the saw horse, taking a moment to visit.

The mouth of the glass had left him with a small milk moustache on his upper giggled and made a motion to her own upper lip, gesturing he might want to wipe it off. Eddie chuckled and wiped it away with his left hand. Rossi noticed the last two fingers of that hand had been buddy taped together. "Oh, no. Bad landing?" she asked, pointing to the injured digits.

Eddie nodded, "yes, I'm working on that. Going out today. I think I might have it figured out." He looked hopeful. Rossi was worried.

"Well," the young ophthalmologist stood and brushed off her skirt, "good luck, Eddie. If it's worth anything, you're doing a lovely job on my office. And I hope you're doing just as well with the training and all." She smiled looking around at the newly hung dry-wall and progression of taping and mudding he had meticulously been working on.

He watched her leave the waiting area and smiled to himself. Eddie felt today could be the day. He quickly finished his impromptu breakfast and got to work plastering the rest of the room. He would be busy sanding in the next few days and hoped his injured fingers would hold up to finish the project on time.

Edwards said his good-byes to Alise later that afternoon. She had gladly supervised his progress as he worked, frequently asking varied questions about his likes and dislikes. Eddie thought she was a bit nosey, but politely answered her probing while he worked. Unfortunately for Edwards, Dr. Rossi had been in with a patients and was unable to see him off. He'd be sure to remedy that tomorrow.

Eddie headed off to the GroBe Olympiaschanze. A few skiers were ambling around the outruns as he made his way up to the 40-meter jump. As he reached the start gate, he adjusted the binding on his skis. "Not too tight, not too lose."

He sat gingerly and pulled his skis into the track. The sky was clear that afternoon. Eddie adjusted his glasses, then pulled his scratched goggles down over to secure them in place. "Let's do this." he gave himself a few words of encouragement then leaned forward and headed down the 40-meter jump.

"Up. Back. Forward. Down" Edwards reminded himself as he picked up speed down the in-run.

Grace and style were two things his jump sorely lacked. On the other hand, though, he had successfully landed the 40-meter that day. Landing awkwardly followed with a victory hoot and pump of his fists, he skied up the outrun. He turned back and gazed longingly up at the 70-meter. "I think I'm ready for something bigger!" and quickly clicked out of the bindings of his skis and made his way to the head pistes-bashers garage.

"Peary!" Eddie called out breathlessly while bursting through the door. Bronson lay in bed, nursing a hangover from the night before. He opened a blood-shot eye and groaned. "I did it, I got the 40-meter, just now!" Eddie exclaimed proudly while taking a seat in the chair next to Bronson's bed.

"Great..." the once-champion pulled a pillow down over his head while reaching for the flask on the nightstand next to him.

"I'm ready for the 70-meter." Edwards pushed. He eyed Bronson's hand searching for the whiskey and snatched it up before he could make contact."First, I need your permission do it, as my coach..." Eddie stood and backed away with the flask in his hand.

Peary slowly sat up and growled, "You're not ready. It'll be years before you can even think about that jump. Now give me my breakfast." He grabbed for the flask in Eddie's hand.

"I don't have that kind of time, Bronson." Eddie explained, "I can do this, but I need your permission."

Peary let out a breath of exasperation, "Fine, I'll tattoo it to your forehead, if it makes you happy. You have my permission, you crazy-ass, Brit. Go on and kill yourself before you make me nuts."

Eddie stood for a moment, imagining a tattoo on his forehead. "That won't be necessary." He turned to leave while flinging the flask of whiskey in Peary's direction. Bronson gladly caught the flask but then realized what he had said to Edwards. Before he could react and stop him, the Brit had left the garage, headed straight for the 70-meter jump.


	11. Chapter 11

**_"I get up,_**

 ** _And nothin' gets me down_**

 ** _You got it tough,_**

 ** _I've seen the toughest around_**

 ** _And I know_**

 ** _Baby just how you feel_**

 ** _You've got to roll with the punches to get to what's real"_ \- Van Halen**

Eddie climbed the long stairway of the 70-meter jump. He could feel the adrenaline pumping in his veins as he reached the top.

Lars Holbin and Erik Moberg had been taking practice runs that day, and now stood atop the platform and eyed the Brit as he approached.

"Going to fly today, Ducky?" Lars jibed.

Edwards pulled the zipper up on his borrowed pea-soup green ski-jumping suit. The two Norwegians looked at each other and laughed then looked back to him.

"Mind if I go next, chaps?" Eddie got in the cue while pulling on his helmet and gloves.

They moved out of his way, amused, and wondering if he really would have the courage to traverse the 70-meter that day.

Bronson Peary approached the outrun of the GroBe, coffee mug in hand, wearing a frown. He looked up at the start gate of the 70-meter and took a long swallow of the hard liquor in the cup.

Bjorn Moberg was also there, looking up at his hopefuls, wishing they would talk him off the gate, "you don't think he's really going to jump?" He asked, referring to Edwards.

"He's crazy, but not suicidal. We're just playing a game of chicken." Bronson explained.

The Norwegian coach stared back, lost in translation to his American slang reference.

"You know, Kvakksalver..." Peary flapped his arms, spilling some of the whiskey from his mug and making a clucking sound.

Eddie perched himself on the start gate. The cloudless sky gave way to a vast and breathtaking view over Garmisch. There was a light wind, and Edwards noticed a large bird soaring in looping lazy circles over the ski-town. He narrowed his eyes and recognized the white head on the great bird. "An eagle..." he whispered to himself.

"Going today, or just going to enjoy the view?" Erik pestered, but with an air of concern in his voice.

Eddies eyes widened in fear. He swallowed hard before replying to the Norwegian, "Yeah, just getting ready. Never done it before." His brow furrowed under his helmet. He was clearly over his head.

Eddie turned sideways on the narrow start gate. "Sorry, it's a lot higher than I expected. Would you mind giving me a push, please?"

Lars Holbin's eyebrows shot up in surprise, "a push?"

Eddie nodded eagerly but then suddenly lost his balance off the starting gate. Gravity took hold, and ready or not, the 70-meter would test his mettle on that day.

Bronson watched in horror from the outrun. He saw the unsteady take-off of Edwards. Quickly, Edward's floundering descent from the jump picked up to a deadly rate of speed and set him shooting off the end of the ramp.

He was out of control, tumbling down the slope, skis flying amiss. Edwards yelped out in pain with every hit.

Peary took off running towards the crashing skier as the punishing fall pounded him into the slope, "Jesus, don't break your legs!"

The ski patrol was already in route as Edward's limp body skidded down over the icy snow and came to rest near the edge of the outrun. Peary jogged up, a look of horror tore at his face. What a mistake, what a horrible mistake he had made giving him permission to do this.

Eddie let out a small groan, but remained still as the patrol team had started working on maintaining cervical spine precautions and rolling him onto a back board, preparing him to be transported to Garmisch's local hospital.

The Norwegian coach, Bjorn Moberg grabbed Peary buy the shoulder and pulled him in while growling a warning into his ear, "You better think about what it is you are doing, Peary. I'll be putting you on a stretcher next! When he winds up dead, it will be on your conscience."

Peary sighed and pulled a hand over the back of his neck. This kid wasn't going to give up.

Dr. Rossi entered her office early that following morning. She was carrying a small package intended for a certain a ski-jumper in training. She anticipated seeing his sweet smile and quickly rounded the corner to her waiting room still under construction.

She stopped short; there was no Eddie. It was Thursday and he wasn't due to practice with Peary until that afternoon.

Her best friends voice suddenly called out from behind the reception desk, "Rossi! It's Eddie!"

Alise abruptly hung up the phone and ran to her friend's side. "He tried the 70-meter yesterday," she sadly informed Rossi. Her eyes widened in fear. "Bronson Peary just called. He's in room 207..."

Rossi's hands dropped the package as she ran out the doorway, headed straight to the Garmisch Hospital.


	12. Chapter 12

**_"No stop signs, speed limit_**

 ** _Nobody's gonna slow us down_**

 ** _Like a wheel, gonna spin it_**

 ** _Nobody's mess me 'round"_ \- AC/DC**

Peary sat next to the hospital bed in room 207. The morning light was filtering through the windows of the room. The young man in the bed resting bore at Bronson's conscience. He had sat there all night, watching over Edwards.

Seeing the young man violently crash the day before had shook him to the core. He realized that this kid from the UK was never going to stop, and Peary's responsibility now was to either continue to try to convince him to quit, or do the crazy thing and coach him enough to qualify and get a spot on the British Winter Olympic Team.

Calgary was eight months away. Not enough time.

 _How in God's name was he going to get him ready_ _in that short of a period?_

Peary shook his head feeling defeated and overwhelmed. He had never met someone like Edwards. In his heart he had wished the kid had more talent to work with.

Bronson leaned back in his chair and spotted his reflection in the mirror over the sink. His face had hard lines and he wore dark circles under his eyes. He turned and looked back at Edwards. Eddie slowly opened his eyes. He winced as a wave of pain washed over him. Hips, knees, shoulders, ribs, jaw, elbows, fingers, they all hurt and were taking turns at getting his attention.

"You're not gonna give up are you?" Peary asked from where he sat.

"I am going to do it..." Eddie stated flatly while pulling his legs over to the side of the bed and sitting up. He grimaced slightly then looked straight at Peary, "I was in the hospital for a year when I was a kid. All the doctors said I should give up sports."

Peary sobered at the young Brit's words.

"You should've listened to them, Eddie." Peary folded up the newspaper he had been reading and tucked it under his arm. He stood and looked down at Eddie, "I can't be responsible for what you do to yourself out there. I'm not any kind of coach. You're looking in the wrong place, kid." He turned and walked out the hospital room door. Edwards watched him go, his expression forsaken.

Exiting out into the hallway, Bronson encountered a concerned Dr. Gössner. She hastily walked up to him, grabbing at his hands, "Is he alright?" her worried face searched his for an answer.

"He'll be fine." Peary brushed past her. She watched him continue down the hallway, confused by Peary's tone, but instead headed to room 207 to check on her would be ski-jumper.

Eddie's expression brightened as he saw her enter the room. Rossi walked slowly in, trying to catch her breath and composure. She sat gingerly next to him on the bed and looked down at his bare legs that peeked out from under his hospital gown. His shins were dotted with varying sizes and colors of bruises in different stages of healing.

"Why did you do that, Eddie? It's so very dangerous." she asked with a quiet but concerned voice while tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

"I have to, Rossi." He explained while examining his legs as well, then reached down and pointed at the deep scar that laced up the front of his left knee, "-for myself."

She sat in silence and watched Eddie swing his legs, testing the extent of his injuries. "What about Peary?" she finally asked.

They looked into each other eyes, searching for answers, not knowing at that very moment, Bronson Peary had changed his mind and was heading back to room 207. He pushed the door open so forcefully it slammed into the wall making them both jump, "Alright! I'll do it!"

Eddie blinked, a smile crawling to his mouth, "thanks, Coach! I won't let you down!"

"No, no... I'm _not_ your coach. I'll show you enough to get you to qualify, then I'm out." He held out his hands as if trying to hold back Eddie's enthusiasm.

"Deal!" Eddie extended his hand, Bronson took it and gave him a painfully strong shake.

"No more 70-meter until you can land, got it?" Bronson gave him a final warning. Edwards nodded in agreement. "See you tomorrow, rest up." Peary turned and left.

He needed a drink after all of that mess, even if it was eight o'clock in the morning. What did he just agree to? He shook his head as he walked down the hospital hallway. Bronson knew where he'd be going for breakfast, and where he'd be going for some advice. The hostess at the Hausberg had always been a good confidant.

Rossi stood and turned to face Eddie after Bronson's abrupt retreat. She was upset with Peary _and_ Edwards for continuing this escapade.

"Well, I guess that settles it then. You get to live out your death wish." She took his hand and shook it curtly, "Good luck, Mr. Michael Edwards."

Eddie held fast to her hand and looked up at her and blinked. "What are you getting on at?"

"I care about you, Eddie." she finally admitted, breaking his gaze and taking an interest in her shoes. Rossi tried pulling her hand from his, but even injured, his grip was stronger.

Eddie ducked his head, catching her eyes with his, "I'm not going to die, Rossi." He gave her a comforting smile, "besides, who would finish your office remodel?"

She let out a small chuckle. "You're mad, you know that?"

He shrugged and loosened his hold of her hand, "Really?"

"Just please, take Peary's instruction seriously. I can't be running off to hospital like this when you get some daft idea in your head." She tucked her free hand into her coat pocket and pulled out a glasses case. "I ordered a spare pair, for this very reason."

"Thank you, Rossi." he reached up and took the case from her. He reluctantly let go of her hand as a sharp pain reminded him of his injuries and decided better to rest back into the bed. Rossi covered him with the quilt and sat back down beside him on the bed. He looked pathetic but sweet as he gave her a weak smile, "might need to push off the remodel for a few days." Rossi nodded and rested a hand over his, giving it a slight squeeze, Eddie winced as she did so.

"Sorry..." Rossi apologized as she pulled her hand away.

The day shift nurse had come on and entered the room to start her morning rounds, "Guten tag, Herr Edwards. Halo, Dr. Gössner." she greeted.

"I'd better be going-" Rossi looked to the nurse then back to Eddie and quickly leaned into him, giving him a chaste kiss to one of the bruises on his cheek. "Get well soon, Eddie."


	13. Chapter 13

**_"I'm hurting, but no I can take the pain_**

 ** _It's here with me everyday_**

 ** _Without it there is nothing to gain_**

 ** _What's bitter, the harder it is to sleep_**

 ** _The harder it is to live_**

 ** _What's burning inside of me"_ \- Gary Barlow**

A week later, Eddie's wounds gifted to him from the 70-meter jump at the GroBe Olympiaschanze were quickly healing. He had started to drink more milk to ensure strong bones and ate ample amounts of protein to also aid in his recovery.

The chimney at Peary's garage was sifting pale white smoke into the clear air, and inside the one bay sat the residing snow cat driver himself.

He was flipping through the pages of "Couloir" as his young British apprentice worked skillfully waxing a new pair of long skis, more appropriate for jumping. The skis were secured in a vise attached to the bench that sat in the first bay of the garage.

The former champion finally spoke, not looking up from the pages of the famous ski magazine "so, when are you going to do it, Edwards?"

Eddie dropped the bar of wax he had been struggling to hold with his injured left hand. The last two fingers still stubbornly ached and remained buddy taped together.

"Excuse me? - "he nervously asked while pushing his new glasses up the bridge of his nose. They had thankfully been sturdy enough to survive his crash off the ominous jump. Many had complimented how they framed his face nicely; and Dr. Rossi had done a superb job in Eddie's opinion.

Peary looked up from the pages of his favorite magazine, "don't tell me you've never considered asking that pretty doctor of yours out, Ed?"

Eddie had crawled under the work bench and busied himself at retrieving that pesky bar of wax. It had skittered across the floorboards and hid itself in the confines under the bench. Bent over, on hands and knees, he squinted in the dim lighting and batted at a few ancient straggly cobwebs.

"Actually, I've been too busy for that sort of rubbish," Edwards replied in a defensive tone. He actually had been. Between his two jobs and tireless training, sleeping was really his only free time.

"Right- "Peary rolled his eyes. He was relentless.

During the two athletes banter, Petra had snuck in the back door of the garage bay. She carried with her two steaming coffee mugs. She stealthily set them down and placed an index finger to her full pursed lips, signaling for Bronson to not let her presence be known.

"I saw how she looked at you in the hospital," Peary continued, "You sure you're not doing more than plastering the cracks in her walls over there in her office?" He smirked and gave Petra a wink, trying to suppress his laughter.

"Peary, I'm a gentleman!" Eddie argued while standing up. He had found the elusive bar of ski wax and retrieved it. Misjudging the height of the bench as he stood, he inadvertently hit the back of his head on the hard wood of the table top. "Ouch!" he protested while rubbing at the sore spot hidden in his mess of hair.

Petra leaned against the Firebird parked in the neighboring bay, "Fraulein problems, Eddie?" she asked innocently while offering him one of the mugs.

He frowned and reluctantly took her peace offering. Petra's special hot chocolate with extra marshmallows greeted his senses as he took a sip. She knew how to get on his good side.

"No problems at all, Petra." Eddie answered after swallowing a large mouthful of the melted marshmallow.

"Then call her, silly. Ask her out. You need it." She gave him an encouraging wink.

"Do you even have her number?" an irritated Peary interjected.

"I gave it back to her- "Eddie admitted. This caused Peary to toss both of his hands into the air in a motion of defeat.

"It was her secretary, Alise's mistake. She's the one who gave me her flat number. I don't think Rossi meant it like that..." Eddie looked down, turning the bar of ski wax over in his hands.

"Probably for the better, you'd just mess that up like everything else." Peary added.

The last thing the kid needed was some girl cluttering up his already debatable senses. If he was to make anything of himself as a ski-jumper, the less on his plate the better.

"Peary, don't be so mean." Petra scolded. Eddie shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"He's right, Petra. She's nice and all- (honestly perfectly gorgeous in his eyes) but I don't think I'm her type, besides..." Eddie returned to waxing the long skis.

Bronson shot her a firm look of discouragement. "Leave it be." Peary said while walking past her to get his flask of whiskey to add a splash to his coffee.

Petra's shoulders slouched. Two of the men she admired the most, were standing right in front of her. Neither of them knowing how much someone else, besides her, was yearning to know each of them. Peary was such a stubborn unforgiving fool at times, and Eddie, he was just naïve and inexperienced. She turned and left. It was time to start the dinner service at the Hausberg.

"Tonight's specials are Jagerschnitzel and Rouladen," she said back over her shoulder while puling the garage door closed behind her.

"Humph..." Peary retorted and went back to reading his magazine.

This left Eddie with his thoughts as he worked over his new skis. He ran his fingertips along the smooth surface left by the bar of wax.

His mind had wandered back to what Peary had talked about earlier that day. They had been going over the different jumps, and he had mentioned how they were much like women.

"Now the 40-meter, she's just a little vixen, something to get you hooked..." Peary had explained, "but then there's the 70-meter, she's the temptress. She'll break your bones. You'll be lucky to all again. And then the 90-meter goddess. She'll break your spirit and your heart if you don't treat her right. She's the ultimate göttin, the one you'd do anything for."

Eddie blinked and thought of the numbers 2625. He may not have had what it took to take on the snow goddess yet, but there was one dark haired Bavarian göttin that was on his mind. Maybe Petra was right. Could a date with Rossi help get him on track?

As Eddie walked back to the Hausberg after finishing his training with Peary, he turned and gazed up at the slopes of the GroBe. A look of single-mindedness came over him and he quickened his pace along the snowy path.

He entered the German tavern and practically hopped over the end of the bar. Plucking up the phone, he put his index finger tip in the hole and began to dial.

Petra stood by the cash register, ringing up a sale and smiling to herself.


	14. Chapter 14

**_"I'm not in love_**

 ** _So don't forget it_**

 ** _It's just a silly phase I'm going through_**

 ** _And just because_**

 ** _I call you up_**

 ** _Don't get me wrong, don't think you've got it made_**

 ** _I'm not in love, no no, it's because.."_ – 10 CC**

The phone in Rossi's flat rang causing her cat, Snarffy, to start from a dream with a snort. The pudgy tabby rolled onto it's back and stretched while yawning.

"Halo?" Rossi's voice answered on the other end of the line. Edwards took a breath and tightened his grip on the receiver.

Rossi blinked her deep blue eyes and said again, "Halo?" she could faintly hear the clinking of glasses and the errant hum of conversation in the back ground.

She shrugged and moved to place the phone back into its cradle when she heard a familiar male British accent, "Yes, hello Miss, err. Dr. Goss-, uh, Rossi, Good evening."

She smiled to herself, "Eddie? Hello." her fingers entwined into the spiraled cord of the phone.

Eddie pushed his glasses up on his nose and straightened his back, "I was wondering..."

Rossi bit her lip, anticipating his question.

"If you'd be free Saturday-" there was a pregnant pause on the line, " _morning_ to open the office for me. I'd like to finish up on the remodel and have it ready for next Monday." he winced, chickening out on his initial intention for the call.

Her shoulders slumped, "Um, sure." She sat down, sinking into her couch, plopping her socked feet up onto the coffee table. "What time?"

"After lunch?" He pulled a hand over the back of his neck, wanting to kick himself for being such a coward.

"That's fine, I don't have any plans," Rossi hinted, hoping for more. "I'm free the whole day..."

"Lovely. I'll see you then." Eddie crossed his eyes, feeling like a fool, as he plopped the Hausberg phone back into the receiver. He pulled his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Good show, chap" he scolded himself.

Petra casually walked over to Eddie after eavesdropping on the entire conversation, "Meeting with Rossi, Saturday?" Edwards nodded slowly while replacing his glasses to their home on his face.

"Pretty girl, Eddie." she brushed at an errant crumb on the bar, "Just you two?" Eddie nodded again.

"Ah, alone?" she tipped her head to the side and gave him a smile.

"What are you getting at, Petra?" the young skier narrowed his eyes.

Petra shrugged, "I think you keep sabotaging yourself." She picked up a bar towel and dried a nearby wine glass. "I don't think you take yourself seriously-" she looked at him with kind hazel eyes as he furrowed his brow, "-with your sport and with your heart." Petra tapped him on the chest with the glass. "When you start doing that, success will find you, Eddie."

She leaned and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Think about that for me?"

Edwards blinked, "Yes, Petra."

"It will be okay, Eddie." Petra comforted. "Come on, I need your help putting away a beer delivery." She nudged him and walked to the stairs that led down to the large coolers in the basement of the Hausberg. "Then give me some of that stinking laundry you've got smelling up my backroom. That's no way to impress the ladies." Eddie winced after giving himself a sniff. Laundry soap was one of the items Mum hadn't shipped in a while. Work plus training took precedence over petty things like the wash, especially in the eyes of a 22-year-old man.

"Yes, Petra..." Edwards followed obediently to task.

The following day, Eddie went about his normal routine. He arrived at the office, smelling like the fabric softener Petra favored. He had even put in some extra effort and had shaved that morning. Pushing the door open, the small shop keepers bell let out a welcoming jingle.

"Morning, Alise..." He greeted while making his way to the waiting room. Frau Roz Gobsauer looked up from the receptionist desk, startling Edwards. "Oh, gawd!" he yelled grabbing his chest.

Frau Roz narrowed her eyes at the athlete, "Nice to see you too, Herr Edwards." and returned to her paperwork.

"Sorry..." Eddie said weakly and backed into the waiting room. The drywall and plastering complete, he had planned to start the painting. The ceiling was the first thing on his list today. He flipped on the radio and starting humming along while opening a gallon of off-white paint and giving it a stir.

George Michael's "Faith" came on and Eddie couldn't help himself. He picked up a paint roller and started singing into it, _"Well, I guess it would be nice if I could touch your body, I know not everybody has got a body like you..."_

Frau Roz looked up from her stack of appointment reminder cards after hearing Eddie continuing to sing at full volume and rolled her eyes.

Eddie poured some paint into a pan and stuck the roller in, dabbing it and loading it up to start on the ceiling. He half sang and hummed while he painted to help pass the time.

Rossi had been in her office the whole time and could hear Eddie's singing. She smiled to herself and chewed on her bottom lip when she heard him belt out, _"Baby, I know you're asking me to stay  
Say please, please, please, don't go say I'm giving you the blues..."_ Then fading back into humming and now whistling. She giggled to herself hearing Frau Roz groan in protest while trying to ignore Eddie's caterwauling.

"Blast!" Eddie called out, startling Rossi. She quickly got up from her desk and went to check on him.

He had misjudged the amount of paint he had loaded onto the roller and a large drop of paint had fallen, landing right into Edwards left eye and splattering onto his lens as well.

Rossi found him trying desperately to wipe the burning paint from his eye as it watered profusely.

"Come with me," she grabbed his arm, guiding him to the eye wash station in her exam room. She pulled off his glasses and leaned him into the two spurting faucets, soaking his face, and most importantly rinsing the toxic paint from his eye. "10 minutes..." she instructed him.

Minutes later, a red faced Edwards was sitting in the exam chair, drying off with a towel. The white of his left eye was red and angry looking.

Rossi returned, glasses cleaned. "How's that eye?" she handed him his glasses and pulled her ophthalmoscope from the pocket of her white jacket and examined him. "I'm so sorry about that, Rossi," he felt terrible.

"Look at my ear..." she told him. He did so, but his gaze slowly wandered down to her mouth. She lowered the scope and met his stare with her eyes. "I think you'll live."

"I'll be more careful," he promised. She nodded and leaned closer to him. He could smell her light perfume as she whispered into his ear.

"Please do." her voice was soft and she smiled pressing her cheek into his, feeling his freshly shaven skin. He smelled clean, like soap...and paint.

Frau Roz cleared her throat loudly, making them both jump, "Dr, when you are done with Herr Edwards, you're first patient of the morning is here."

Rossi backed away from Eddie quickly, "yes, thank you, Frau Grobsauer."

Eddie took advantage of the situation and made his escape.

"Yes, don't want to cause a delay. Much better, thank you" he put his glasses on and pushed past the large Austrian woman occluding the doorway.


	15. Chapter 15

**_"There is freedom within, there is freedom without_**

 ** _Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup_**

 ** _There's a battle ahead, many battles are lost_**

 ** _But you'll never see the end of the road_**

 ** _While you're traveling with me"_ \- Crowded House**

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Alise-" Rossi lamented to her friend on the phone as she changed then wandered from her bedroom to the bathroom. Alise had convinced her a night out would help her with her current man issues.

"I was practically throwing myself at him like some common tart, and the worst thing, Roz saw the whole thing!" She held the phone with the crook of her neck as she uncapped her mascara and gave her long black eyelashes a touch-up. "I'm not ready. He's cute and all, available...very available..." she paused listening to her friend. Make-up freshened she took one last inventory of her reflection. "Alright, I'll see you at the Hausberg in ten." She followed the stretched cord back through her flat and returned the phone to its base.

"What do you think, Snarf-snarf?" she looked to the fat dozing tabby on her couch for counsel. He opened an eye and let out a squeaky meow, "I know, sexy as hell-" she gave him a scratch behind the ear, "no wild parties, Snarffy..." she instructed as she grabbed her purse and keys, heading out the door to meet her friend for drinks on a Friday night.

The Hausberg was filling up. A ski meet was being held that weekend, and competitors had been arriving all day. Alise had met Rossi at one of their preferred high top tables. "We're drinking tonight, Rossi." she handed her friend a large glass of white wine. Rossi rolled her eyes and took a sip. "You look posh," Alise complimented the low cut top Rossi had chosen to wear. "That will get those coke-bottles in your direction in no time!" She giggled and pointed to a busy Edwards. He was a few tables over, chatting up a group of skiers.

Eddie had noticed their arrival and glanced over, nodding and giving a slight wave, "Good luck tomorrow, chaps." he well-wished the team from Sweden. They were ranked on top and had high hopes in taking the speed skiing event tomorrow. Edwards made his way through the crowd, dish bin perched on his right hip, taking errant glasses and steins from tables and out of the way.

"Ladies..." Eddie greeted Alise and Rossi in passing. They both nodded and Rossi blushed into her wine. He was wearing a button-down plaid shirt and had left the top few buttons undone. His shave from the morning was a slight five-o'clock shadow and Rossi thought he looked quite like a British lumber-jack.

Alise's eyes widened as she looked to the doorway of the Hausberg, "Holy shit, no way!"

"What?" Rossi turned to look in the direction of her friend. "Oh, my god..."

Standing in the doorway of the German tavern was Jean-Marc. He had arrived in Garmisch that afternoon. Apparently one of his conquests was a competitor in tomorrow's skiing event, and he had joined her for the weekend. His chiseled jaw tensed as he recognized Rossi, but then gave her a slick smile.

Rossi turned back to the table and hissed, "What the hell is he doing here?" Alise gave him a casual wave as he made his way over to them.

"Jean-Marc, what a surprise!" the tall blonde feigned excitement, as she stood and gave him a half hug "What brings you to Garmisch?"

"Just in town for the weekend," he looked Rossi up and down and then gave her a cocky grin, "Looking good, Rossi." She wanted to douse herself with gasoline and set her flesh on fire.

"Feeling good, Jean-Marc," she replied with a polite smile as he took her hand and kissed it. She would be amputating it later.

A slender Swedish woman approached Jean-Marc, giving him a full kiss on the mouth. "Halo, lover..." she greeted him after breaking the deep embrace then looked to the two women at the high top table. "Friends of yours?"

As he introduced them all, Rossi couldn't help but want to just crawl under the table and die. This was torture. She looked down at the now half empty glass of wine, wanting so to empty it over her ex-boyfriends lying, cheating, pig-headed-

"-don't you think, Rossi?" Alise asked, pulling Rossi out of her thoughts.

She blinked, totally lost, "Um...sure..."

Alise's eyes widened trying to subconsciously tell Rossi to get with the program. "Excellent, see you then."

Oh no, what had she just agreed to? Bloody hell.

Jean-Marc and his perfect Swedish companion left the table. Alise scolded her, "Great, now we have to have dinner with those two wanker's tomorrow. Thanks, Rossi." Alise stood and left to order another round of drinks from the bar.

Rossi groaned and took a long swallow of her wine. Why did she always do that? She would get all wrapped up in her thoughts, then do something completely stupid, like agreeing to eat with those two. She wondered if she'd even have an appetite after watching that Swede stick her tongue down her once-lover's throat.

She swallowed the last bit of her wine and winced, it was going down much too easy tonight.

"I didn't know you drank, Rossi?" Eddie's voice asked. She looked beside her, he was pointing to the empty glass of wine in front of her, offering to take it away.

"Tonight is an exception." she explained. He nodded, "birthday?" and slid the glass from the table into the bin on his hip.

"No..." she looked down at her hands in her lap.

"Mmm, well then," he shrugged and gave her a smile, "thanks again for this morning." He winked his now clear left eye at her.

She felt her cheeks warm, "You're welcome."

He moved on, working tirelessly. Alise had returned with two more glasses of Riesling. "Well, now..." she smiled wide, "that looked promising!"

Rossi giggled and took one of the glasses from her friend, "that's about all he does, Look!" she widened her eyes mimicking Eddie's bioptic gaze at times. The two friends laughed and went on to gossip about the possible future adventures for the upcoming weekend including tomorrow evenings dinner.

Petra had booked a band that evening, and they had started their first set. They started off with a Crowded House cover, "Don't Dream It's Over" and the crowd erupted with applause.


	16. Chapter 16

**_"Who's gonna pick you up_**

 ** _When you fall_**

 ** _Who's gonna hang it up_**

 ** _When you call_**

 ** _Who's gonna pay attention_**

 ** _To your dreams_**

 ** _Who's gonna plug their ears_**

 ** _When you scream"_ \- The Cars**

The band pulled a large crowd to the Hausberg that night. Petra was busy at the cash register. A haze of smoke floated over the bar, and there was the odor of stale beer in the air. Eddie would be busy tomorrow morning, cleaning up after the profitable Friday night.

"Thank you all for coming out," the young brown haired singer called out over the mic. The crowd applauded in return, "Thank you, Petra for having us! Last song of the evening, folks. A personal favorite of mine, I hope we do it justice!"

The familiar beginning cords rang out to the Cars hit "Drive" and couples started pairing up for the last dance of the evening. Eddie rested against the bar, watching the mating rituals of the locals. He had lost track of Rossi and Alise. They had last been seen in line for the bathroom, and he had assumed they had finally had enough wine and left for the evening.

"May I have this dance?" a slurred voice asked. He turned and saw an obviously tipsy Rossi, extending her hand. Eddie blinked and took her hand as she guided him out to the crowded dancefloor.

 _"You can't go on. Thinking nothing's wrong. Who's gonna drive you home tonight-"_ Rossi winked as she pulled him close, wrapping her arms around his neck, and started to sway to the music. Eddie swallowed and placed his palms on either side of her hips, trying to lead her in a basic box-step dance. She hic-cupped and laughed, "you're so adorable, Eddie."

He blushed and looked out at the crowd, "Now you're starting to make me wonder about your eye-sight." he laughed and looked back at her. Her expression was serious.

"You don't think you're handsome?" she asked. He shook his head. Rossi pulled him closer, their cheeks brushing together. The back of his neck was damp from working in the crowded tavern and she could smell his faint musk. His hands moved up to her lower back, holding her up as she stumbled slightly.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked bluntly.

Eddie's eyes widened, "I suppose." He was worried about her decisions in her current state, and looked around quickly for Alise. Before he could call her over, Rossi pulled him down and kissed him hard on the lips. He could taste the sweet wine on her breath. This wasn't his idea of a first kiss with the attractive doctor, but it would have to do.

Rossi broke the kiss and smiled up at him, "There!" She hic-cupped again and faltered. Eddie had her full weight in his arms and carried her to the bar and rested her into a chair.

"I'm so sorry, Eddie" Alise apologized while approaching the couple, "I got her drunk, she ran into her ex-tonight, and after this morning at the office..." she stopped knowing she had told him too much and placed a hand over her mouth.

"It's alright." he left the two women and returned with a tall glass of ice water, "here..." he handed it to Rossi and she took a sip.

Petra pulled at Eddie's arm, "You're good for tonight, Eddie. See you in the morning," she winked at the young skier. He took a breath and looked over to Rossi then back to Petra as she waved him on.

Eddie knelt down beside Rossi, "let me help you home, okay?" She nodded in agreement and tried to stand. He held an arm around her shoulders as he guided her out the exit. The crowd was filtering out and the cool fresh air felt good to Edwards. They walked the few blocks down the narrow streets of Garmisch to Rossi's flat. It had taken extra time, due to Rossi's serpentine walking pattern. Eddie was patient and helped her with her keys when they finally arrived at the door of her flat.

"Thank you, I feel like a fool." Rossi had sobered some during their walk.

"It's alright, Rossi. It was time I returned a favor..."he smiled and pushed the door open to her flat and handed her back her keys. Their hands touched and the moment felt right. Eddie leaned in and gave her a soft kiss.

She hic-cupped and broke the kiss, "sorry..." she winced feeling her stomach churn and placed a hand to her mouth. She felt bile in the back of her throat and ran though the doorway of her flat, stumbling towards the bathroom.

 _What a lovely end to a terrible evening._


	17. Chapter 17

**_"And the shame, was on the other side_**  
 ** _Oh, we can beat them, forever and ever_**  
 ** _Then we could be heroes just for one day"_ \- David Bowie**

Early that following morning, Eddie walked down the back hallway of the Hausberg. The bar was closed but he could hear someone moving around bottles and glasses. The young skier was still rubbing the sleep from his deep green eyes as he walked into the kitchen. He assumed it was Petra who had been up early making the noise and greeted her with an absent, "-morning, Petra…"

"Good morning, kid- "Bronson Peary's deep tenor greeted him. Eddie stopped in his tracks and blinked.

"You're up early, Peary!" he grinned and headed towards the steaming coffee pot after grabbing a white porcelain coffee cup from the dish rack.

"Uh, sure…" Bronson answered while scooping up his own full mug and stepped to the doorway out of the kitchen towards the bar. He was headed off by a curious Edwards.

"All bright eyed and bushy tailed?" Eddie asked standing in the doorway, blocking Peary's escape. The older man narrowed his eyes at the cheeky Brit.

"Oh, Bronson, darling?" Petra's smooth German accent sang out from the bar of the Hausberg. Peary sighed and slumped, knowing he had been caught. Eddie's grin broadened as Petra entered the kitchen. She placed a hand on Eddie's shoulder, gently moving him out of her path. She stepped past him and draped an arm around Bronson's neck and gave him a loving kiss on the cheek. Peary tried not to scowl at her blatant public display of affection.

"Good morning, Petra- "Eddie interrupted, still wearing the goofy grin on his face. Petra turned to him and smiled sweetly.

"Good morning, sweetie." She pinched at his cheek and puckered her lips at him. He turned a shade of deep pink and fidgeted. "Two handsome men in my kitchen, what luck."

Bronson grabbed her about the waist and dipped her. She laughed full as her hair fell from its bun, letting her dark brown strands fall over her shoulders. Petra had a graceful beauty to her. Eddie couldn't help but notice how the usual stern Peary now smiled warmly at her and laughed along with her. He had never seen his mentor smile like that, and it took him back.

"I always wondered if there was something between you two…" Eddie said while wagging his index finger at both of them. Peary immediately sobered and pulled Petra back up to her feet and took a step back.

"Alright, none of your business, Ed." Peary grabbed up his coffee and strode out into the bar and took a seat by the windows. Eddie wasn't far behind him after grabbing his own cup of joe. He sat across the table from Bronson, still grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Bronson took a sip of his coffee and looked at the young Brit. His expression lacked any emotion, save for possibly annoyance, but then he finally spoke, "so, how'd things go for you last night? Petra filled me in."

Eddie gave replied with a huff, "I only walked her home, Peary." His chin butted out, "always a gentleman."

"I know, "Bronson chuckled and took another sip of his black coffee. Eddie scowled back at him and then took a sip from his own mug and made a face. He would have much preferred a nice cup of Earle Grey like Mum could make.

They sat in silence looking out at the GroBe. Two men in very similar places-both having something to prove, both on the edge of greatness, both with the hunger to finally have their moment.

"Alright, tomorrow is Garmisch's senior ski jumping event. That's your chance. You're entering it. You only need to land the jump and you're in, kid." Bronson finally broke the silence, looking right at Edwards as he spoke. He needed to get this Brit on his way. He was starting to feel like gum on his shoe, and Peary needed to stop thinking about ski jumping and get on with his miserable existence already.

Eddie swallowed hard. His dreams were coming true. First with the possibility of Calgary, and now with the hopeful romance with Dr. Gössner. "Right." He nodded in agreement with his coach.

He had come close to landing the 70-meter earlier that week, but all attempts had left him face down in the snow, or flat on his back, looking up at the sky. He had become accustomed to bottoming out and sliding down the slope on his back often. It had been a technique Peary had taught him to avoid further injury and for the time being, was the safest way for Edwards to somewhat land. "Falling with grace." Bronson had remarked one day. Eddie lacked the lower body strength to pull himself out of the crouched position that his lands precariously placed him in frequently.

"Finish your coffee, Ed." Peary instructed, "we need to get some more practice jumps in under your belt this morning before I have to start my shift."

Bronson would be running the snow bully extra hours that Saturday to ensure the pistes would be well maintained during competitions and the added holiday skier traffic the events would bring to Garmisch.

Eddie sipped at the mug in front of him and pondered his fate. Tomorrow would decide his eligibility for Calgary. He needed to finish Rossi's waiting room this afternoon. If luck would grant it, he would be leaving early Monday morning on the first coach back to London to meet with the BOA officials regarding his newly earned spot on the ski team for the 1988 Olympics.

He didn't want to let Rossi down again, by leaving things unfinished, plus he wanted to spend what moments he had left in Garmisch with her. He knew if he was successful, he would be pulled away from the southern Germany ski town and half way around the world and far from the affections of Dr. Gössner. His heart sank a little as he swirled what was left of his coffee around in the white mug.

"C'mon, Eddie" Bronson's voice pulled him out of his thoughts, "Time's a wasting…"


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

 ** _"_** ** _And I'm thinking about home_** ** _  
_** ** _And I'm thinking about faith_** ** _  
_** ** _And I'm thinking about work_** ** _  
_** ** _And I'm thinking about how good it would be_** ** _  
_** ** _To be here some day_** ** _  
_** ** _On a ship called dignity_** ** _  
_** ** _A ship called dignity" -Deacon Blue_**

Peary stood at the end of the outrun. His arms were crossed, brows furrowed. His intense stare was veiled by a pair of dark Ray-Ban sunglasses. He looked up the 70-meter ramp and watched the small figure maneuvering onto the start gate.

"C'mon, kid. Up, back, forward, down," Peary's deep voice rumbled.

Edwards found his perch on the start gate. His breath billowed out in small clouds into the air in front of him. It was early in the day, the sun had come up over Garmisch revealing a clear and crisp morning. Local skiers and event competitors had just started to filter in for the day. Eddie only had a small window of opportunity to get some practice jumps in before tomorrow's big ski-jump competition. He had to get his landing nailed down or else his dreams of Calgary would be all for not.

Eddie looked down the slope to Peary. He nodded to himself, as if to convince his mind he was ready, and lowered his goggles down over his glasses. He pulled up at the zipper of his stained lime green ski-jumping suit and nervously adjusted the fingers of his oversized gloves. He took a few quick breaths and gave his head a shake to clear out any cobwebs of doubt and leaned forward, pushing off the start gate.

Gravity took hold of Edwards and led him down the in-run. He quickly picked up speed, as he crouched down and pushed himself forward.

 _Up. Back. Forward. Down._

Peary's jaw tensed as he watched his young pupil reach the end of the table. He guessed Eddie was traveling close to fifty miles per hour as his skis left the ramp and the ski-jumper became air borne.

"Yes!" Peary shouted as he watched Edwards travel down the slope in the air and his skis successfully made contact and resulted in an almost perfect tele mark landing.

Eddie wavered slightly and his leg muscles ached as he pushed them to maintain his form and keep his body upright as he landed. He grimaced, but stayed upright. He had finally done it!

He skied up to Peary while hooting and giving his once reluctant coach a double thumbs up. Peary smirked and gave him a slow golf clap.

"Finally, kid! You got it!" he congratulated Edwards.

Eddie popped out of his bindings, pulled up his goggles and ran to Bronson, giving him a high-five.

"Yes! That was fantastic! Thank you, Bronson!" Eddie gushed.

Peary's grin turned to a genuine smile. He was secretly proud of _himself_ and the crazy Brit. They had accomplished the near impossible working together, and it felt good to be back in the sport in some way. "Do that tomorrow, and you'll be on a plane to Canada in no time."

"I've got to take more practice jumps. That felt incredible!" Eddie gathered up his skis and bee-lined to the long line of stairs headed back up the 70-meter.

Bronson watched him go, Eddie was fueled by adrenaline and success. He shook his head and laughed to himself, "that crazy Brit is going to make it after all…" Peary felt some pride creep back into him. He remembered what it had been like years ago as a young teen when he had landed his first 70-meter.

His mood quickly changed when Warren Sharp's voice echoed into his brain, _"You were my biggest disappointment."_ Bronson frowned and kicked at the snow. He reached back into his hip pocket grabbing his flask and took a long pull. It would help numb the memories and regrets. Doubt played at his thoughts.

 _Why am I encouraging him?_

"Bronson," Petra's soft German accent broke him from his self-defeating thoughts, "did he land the jump?"

"Yeah, just now. He's headed for another practice jump." Peary answered.

Petra beamed and stepped closer to Bronson. She tucked her arm into his and kissed him on the cheek. "You've turned out to be a terrific coach, Bronson." She smiled up at him while giving his arm a squeeze.

"I don't know, Petra." Bronson argued while looking worried, "I'm not so sure I'm doing the right thing by helping him."

"You are…" Petra cooed back at him. It softened him when leaned up on her tip-toes and gave him a warm kiss on the mouth. "This reminds me of the old days, Bronson."

A small grin pulled at the corner of Peary's mouth. He wrapped his arms around her form and gave her a hug. "It does…" She nodded in agreement and turned to face the slope and watch with him as Edwards prepared for his next practice jump. Petra smiled wide, and unknown to her, Bronson was smiling too as he stood behind her, his arms draped around her shoulders, keeping her warm, and watching another successful landing for Eddie. Calgary was only months away and looking less of a dream and more of a reality.

Would they be ready for the changes it would bring to all of their lives?


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

 ** _"_** ** _I'm running out of ways to make you see_** ** _  
_** ** _I want you to stay here beside me_** ** _  
_** ** _I won't be okay and I won't pretend I am_** ** _  
_** ** _So just tell me today and take my hand" -Snow Patrol_**

Eddie walked up to the door of Dr. Rossi's office. He glanced down at his watch, it read eleven o'clock. Eddie turned his head up and looked to the swinging shingle shaped like a pair of glasses. He had come directly from the GroBe after landing almost a dozen successful jumps. Unfortunately, Eddie had taken a hard fall on one of the last jumps, and he could feel a large bruise forming on his hip. He winced a little and shifted his weight on his feet and adjusted his own glasses on his face and knocked on the large door. After waiting a few moments, he leaned in and squinted through the window. Realizing Rossi wasn't there, he walked across the street to a pay phone and dialed the number to her flat.

"Hello?" Rossi's voice answered after a few rings.

"Good morning. It's Eddie…" he replied as his face lit up, hopeful he would see her that day.

"Oh, god. Eddie, I'm so sorry for last night." Rossi mourned from the other end of the line. She was so embarrassed for her behavior, and had remembered everything from that evening, no thanks to the early morning call she had received from Alise. Her friend had said she was "just checking in" but she knew damn well Alise was looking for a bit of trash on her. Such a meddler!

"You must think terrible of me. I acted like such a mug-"

Eddie quickly cut her off, "-On the contrary, Rossi." He heard dead silence on the other end of the line. He was instilled with a new found confidence from his early morning practice with Peary. Success with the 70-meter had filled him with the feeling he could conquer the world. And quite possible capture Rossi's heart in the meantime as well. Eddie pressed on, "I think you're quite lovely. Now, would you like if I were to pick up a few sandwiches from the delicatessen. I'd still like to meet at your office to finish up and have some lunch, too. Will you meet me here?"

Rossi's eyes widened. _Oh god, he's at my office!_ She could picture him standing at the payphone across the street. A small storm of butterflies stirred up her stomach. Was it hunger or nerves? Possibly both. The thoughts of lunch-alone in her office-with Eddie delighted and terrified her at the same time.

"I…I'll be right there. See you soon," she hung up the phone and rushed to the bathroom to tame her freshly showered mane and make herself presentable.

Eddie smiled and clicked the payphone receiver back into its cradle and stepped out of the booth. He was satisfied and placed both hands in the pockets of his track pants and whistled a little tune while he strolled down the street to his favorite delicatessen to order some lunch to go.


End file.
